


That's Some Cool-Down Period You Got There

by Bottomfeeder



Category: Psych
Genre: Community: 30_kisses, M/M, POV: Henry Spencer, Parent/Child Incest, adult child/parent incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:33:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bottomfeeder/pseuds/Bottomfeeder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn goads Henry into participating in a Father-Son Road Trip Day, but they don't really go anywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's Some Cool-Down Period You Got There

**Author's Note:**

> For prompt #29: _the sound of waves_.
> 
> Wrote this is a loooong time ago under my hard-death lj, and never ended up writing a single other kiss. 1/30 kisses. My typical fandom ADD. And now I'm seasons behind on this show, so until I catch up with canon it'll be a while before I read/write more of this fandom.
> 
> I only rated this Mature because of the subject matter. This is actually really pretty tame, otherwise.

They lie there shoulder-to-shoulder on top of Henry’s car, parked half-way under the overpass. Sun-scorched metal sears through t-shirts like a brand of all the things they’re not sorry for. The autumn day is cool and painfully clear to look at, the sun all the more inescapable. Henry feels like one of his catch from his fishing trips, laid bare and touch-sensitive. Nothing to do but wait to become someone’s meal. 

 

He lets out the breath he’s been holding since Shawn burst through his kitchen door that morning to declare it Father-Son Roadtrip Day. 

 

His son’s typical childish glee had been sharpened by green sparks in his eyes like traffic lights screaming go, go, go. Shawn claimed playing hooky is good for the soul when Henry remarked he must be bored with no cases to scam his way into. Shawn hadn’t even bothered with his usual mock-hurt at the reference to the psychic detective business. 

 

Henry had taken one look at Shawn wearing the face of a man determined to push his way through a fever and out the other side into the territory of god-knows-where, and nodded. Used to a lifetime of being simultaneously energized and drained by his son’s intensity, for once Henry hadn’t argued. 

 

Shawn specialized in involving people in his mania in spite of themselves. Especially if they put up strong initial resistance. 

 

Henry did, however, snatch the keys out of Shawn’s hands. He would never let that maniac drive his car. Shawn knows this, but he had to try because he wouldn't be Shawn if he didn't make everything ten times more pain-in-the-ass than necessary.

 

For the moment, Shawn is next to him, flat on his back and on relatively good behavior. No chance in hell of it lasting. So far, though, no taboo kisses unless he counts the drag of their shoulders whenever either of them fidget. Henry might as well be honest with himself mid-crime and admit they both know it counts. Especially when the fidgeting is just an excuse for more physical contact. Henry sighs and blinks behind sunglasses against the not unpleasant press of neon sun. Henry’s not a fidgeter. But he married one, and she gave him a son who takes after her, spreading unreasonable behavior like a disease.

 

The next second, Shawn is a peter-pan silhouette gilded in sunlight above Henry, taking one long swipe at his unguarded throat. A fever-hot tongue catches on sandpaper stubble before the shadow darts back as if nothing worth mentioning had ever occurred. 

 

The smirk that settles into Shawn’s full lower lip and makes a home there at Henry’s sharp indrawn breath says different. 

 

The little shit didn’t even given Henry time to utter his name in a strangled tone that would express the desire to do just that: strangle his pig-headed son. Henry gropes for anger—or at least the will to turn onto his side away from that damn smirk for cris’sake—but comes up empty save for that familiar stunned feeling that is always Shawn-related and predicts a Shawn-headache in the near future.

 

They spend the rest of the afternoon just lying there, soaking up heat, pretending it’s the sun’s movement that makes them shift occasionally to get a better position and not each others’. Every time cars go by above them and rattle over the seams in the concrete is like watching another cool wave pass them by like an intentionally missed ride. All thoughts of have-they-lost-their-goddamn-minds and things unrelated to playing hooky from normalcy dissolve like mirage-water on a hot road.

 

Every once in a while Shawn barely touches him again without warning, huffing soft laughter between red lips when Henry jolts. Sometimes Shawn makes some smart-ass remark like _That’s some cool-down period you got there, Dad_ , which Henry snorts at even though he doesn’t want to egg the little bastard on, and lightly swats him upside the head. 

 

They're supposed to be in their Permanent Cool-Down Period right now, as a matter of fact, so they can remember what things like boundaries are. Henry declared it weeks ago, though Shawn had argued that they hadn’t even done enough to cool down from. But apparently Shawn’s stupid rules and Henry’s stupid rules cancel each other out so they were right back where they started from. Shawn's _real_ power-from-the-Beyond was that people never let him get his way, 

 

and never let him get his way, 

 

and never let him get his way, 

 

except for when they finally mentally broke down into a million tiny Humpty Dumpty pieces and he literally skipped away with everything, adolescent kiddie giggle trailing in the distance. 

 

Henry looks over at Shawn looking happy for once, instead of restless and desperate for any-damn-thing that comes his way.

 

The vivid colors of the sunset keep them pinned flat on their backs to the fierce, uncomfortable but comforting warmth of metal and bodies in too-close proximity.

 

 

[-end-]


End file.
